


John was fine.

by orphan_account



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Angst, BBC Sherlock - Freeform, Gen, Plane Crash, Sherlock is in denial
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-04
Updated: 2013-04-04
Packaged: 2017-12-07 10:50:51
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/747682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In which Sherlock thought that John was fine.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>John wasn't fine.</p>
            </blockquote>





	John was fine.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know why this angst refused to leave my head while I was trying to get to sleep yesterday, but I just had to write it down. I'M SORRY!

The plane was plummeting at 300mph.

People were screaming and praying and crying.

It was like something out of those stupid films that John insisted on watching, but with added fear, and it was not how Sherlock had imagined his trip to America to end.

"John," he leaned over to his flatmate, who was trying to console a woman across the aisle with a small child, "John, we're going to crash into the sea."

At the word 'crash' the woman began to wail even more violently. John gave Sherlock a reproachful look but turned over his full attention.

"How do you know?"

"Angle of the plane. Time we've been travelling for. Type of turbulence we've encountered so far. An idiot could have worked it out," Sherlock almost sounded like his usual self, but the edge soon returned to his voice, "these people need to put on life jackets."

John looked around the whole plane before suddenly standing up and shouting:

"I know none of you are in the best state of mind right now, but you all need to put on life jackets. We're going to be hitting the sea. Just... Don't inflate them yet-"

He was cut off by more screaming but, satisfied he'd at least partially got his message across, he dropped back into the seat next to Sherlock and gave him a reassuring smile.

"We'll be fine. Completely fine. Absolutely fine."

"No we won't. Judging by the amount of time we've been falling for, we don't have much time until impact. John, you need to put on your life jacket."

Sherlock began reaching under his seat, searching around for the inflatable.

"John," he said quietly, voice even more muffled by the seat, "I just wanted to say that, if anything happens - not that it will, obviously, we'll be fine - this has been... Yes... This has been good."

He straightened up but John wasn't sitting next to him in the brace position like he should have been. John was standing on the other side of the aisle, helping the hysterical woman there fit a life jacket on her son. And John had not yet put on his.

"JOHN," shouted Sherlock, "YOU NEED TO-"

But he was cut off by a huge roar as the plane hit the water and began to break up around them. Sherlock caught one last glimpse of John's face, half-turned towards him, before he was obscured by wreckage. Water began pouring into the plane.

Quickly turning, Sherlock looked for the nearest escape exit. It was about six metres away, and the water was already almost filling the plane. Hastily swimming over to where he had last seen John, Sherlock saw nothing but a mangled mix of seating and wreckage. But it was okay, John was an army doctor. He would have escaped easily. John was fine.

Sherlock threw himself towards the exit, where there was already a crowd fighting to escape. He took his last lungful of air before the plane completely filled, and ducked out of the door, plucking a half-conscious child from her seat as he did so and carrying her with him.

Kicking upwards, he emerged amid a sea of wreckage and screaming people bobbing up and down and immediately started looking for John. He couldn’t see him, but that was alright: John was always reliable, always there, he’d be floating around somewhere, completely alright, completely fine, 100% fine.

Sherlock managed to grab hold of a floating metal door and lay half-across it, setting down the small girl on the top of it. She was already regaining consciousness, spluttering and coughing up seawater. Satisfied that she would be okay, Sherlock collapsed onto the battered rectangle of metal, exhausted.

It was twenty minutes before the first rescuers began to arrive. It was a good job the sea was reasonably warm, or Sherlock was sure they’d all be frozen to death by this point. He lifted the girl up into the waiting arms of a sailor on the first boat that reached them before climbing into it himself.

“Have you seen John? John Watson? He’s short, has a-”

“Sorry,” the sailor said, “we aren’t keeping tracks on the survivors yet. You’ll have to wait until we get back to the shore.”

Sherlock felt a momentary surge of panic. Wait, what? Panic? He almost never panicked. The last time he’d panicked was when he’d thought that John was caught in a burning building in London. But John was fine here. John was absolutely fine. He had to be fine. So why was he so worried? He had no need to be. John was fine.

He spent the whole journey back to the nearest shore craning his neck to try and spot John in one of the other boats, but he couldn’t see him, there were too many. Oh well, they’d speak when they got back. John would be fine. Wait, why did he keep repeating that to himself? What was his mind doing? Maybe he had a slight concussion. Yes, that’d be it. Something hitting him on the head when the plane crashed.

As soon as his boat touched the shore, Sherlock was up and ready to leave, but he was stopped from jumping over the side and onto the beach by the sailor.

“I need to take your name, sir.”

“Sherlock Holmes – now let me through!”

“How are you spelling that, sir?”

Sherlock gave the sailor a look that could kill a vampire, and was quickly allowed to leave.

He searched the boats immediately around his, and then began to spread out to the boats further down the beach. Typical John, getting himself put on a boat so far away from Sherlock’s. He’d be fine, though, of course. Absolutely- NO, he had to stop repeating that! It must be concussion… Though he couldn’t recall being hit, and his head didn’t actually hurt. There was a strange pain in his chest though, around his heart. He’d have to get that checked out.

Sherlock stopped when he reached the end of the line of boats. He must have missed John somehow. Strange, he thought, he’d been thorough in his search.

Another hour’s searching later and he still couldn’t find John. But John was fine, so there must be other boats around somewhere.

“You alright, mate?” An old sailor came and stood next to him as he surveyed the beach.

“Actually, I’m wondering where the rest of the rescue boats are.”

The man gave him a look that, for once, he couldn’t quite decipher. It looked like pity. But why would this man find that pitiful?

“These are the only boats,” the man said slowly, “there are… no… more.”

“Actually, my friend is on one of them. John Watson.”

The sailor paused for a moment.

“Are you… sure… about that?”

Sherlock was just about to reply that yes, of course he was sure, that John was fine, when he heard a familiar voice behind him.

It was Mycroft.

“What are you doing here?”

“Sherlock, you’re my little brother and you’ve just been in a plane crash, what do you think I’m doing here?”

“In that case, help me look for John.”

Mycroft gave him a look a bit like the one that the sailor had given him.

“Sherlock… John… He isn’t here.”

Sherlock stared. Mycroft, making a mistake? Mycroft never made mistakes, but John was fine, what was he talking about?

Mycroft continued.

“But there’s still a chance of his survival. I assume he was wearing a life jacket? I’m sure he will be at the crash site, Sherlock.”

“No…”

Mycroft looked shocked.

“No?”

“He was helping… a woman… no life jacket…”

Sherlock’s mind was strangely blank. For once in his life, he just couldn’t think. There was something terrible, something from the deepest depths of human nature, and it was stopping his deductions and stopping his entire body in its tracks. The ground had been removed from underneath him and his entire body was falling down towards the center of the Earth.

John wasn’t there.

John hadn’t been on the boats.

John hadn’t been in the water.

John hadn’t been seen in the sinking plane.

John hadn’t been sat in his seat and he hadn’t been wearing a life jacket before the plane went down.

John…

 

John wasn’t fine.


End file.
